


Heliocentric

by ssorrell



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-11-07 10:46:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11057349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssorrell/pseuds/ssorrell
Summary: It's casual and messy.  But at least it's consistent.Some episode tie-ins about DS9's resident poly couple - Miles and Keiko - and everyone else who finds their way under their roof.





	1. Chapter 1

Keiko can’t believe what she’s hearing.  But she hasn’t believed much of anything so far on this assignment, and it’s been barely a day and half her boxes are still fully packed.

Indeed, Miles has to lean forward to meet Keiko’s eyes, with the wall of boxes between them on the dining table.  It feels fitting, Miles thinks, and matches his luck.

“You’re saying _I’m_ hard to get along with?” he gestures to himself, and is disappointed by how suddenly Keiko nods at him.

“All I’m saying, Miles, is that you could’ve looked into this assignment a little more closely before you accepted it,” she sighs. “You _knew_ you’d have to work with Cardassians again.  What if it isn’t a good match?”

“Who said anything about Cardassians?”

Keiko nods pointedly at the replicator, which she’s spent the morning trying to interpret the menus from; some of the station is still struggling to accept the Federation overrides.

“I _said_ I’d fix it, give me a minute.”

He tugs at his sleeves and then at the zipper along his collar, thankful for his new and arguably more practical uniform.  Then he gathers his equipment and hunches before the replicator, peering into it with a flashlight in one hand.  

“It’s not the Cardassians that are the problem anyway.  So far it’s been the Bajorans.”

“I find that very hard to believe,” Keiko decides.  

“Oh, well, then you haven’t met a Bajoran,” Miles mutters this and hopes it will be caught inside the walls of the replicator, but he has no such luck.

“Yes I have,” Keiko insists.

“If you think _I’m_ hard to get along with, wait ‘til you meet my new XO.”

***

Miles did not think it was an unreasonable expectation, it was right there in his words: _wait_ and _meet my new XO_.  He went through the trouble of arranging a tour during the gamma shift at the end of the following week - the soonest he, Keiko, and Major Kira were simultaneously available.

Keiko caught sight of this in his personal log - the chart he was making - and immediately sent her own private message to the Major.

They met the following morning over coffee.  More precisely, raktajino, only slightly stronger than Keiko’s determination to prove Miles wrong.

“You must be Chief O’Brien’s wife,” Kira waits for a nod to slide into the empty seat.  She decides to wait longer to take a sip of her drink.

“That’s right.  Keiko.”

_Good_ , Kira thinks.  She’s never really learned how to address humans.  But this one is Keiko O’Brien - _Keiko -_ which sounds very reasonable, even to a Bajoran ear.

“And you’re Major Kira,” Keiko proceeds. “Miles has told me a lot about you.”

Kira’s eyes gradually widen.

“Not a _lot_ , I guess,” Keiko admits, “only what he knows so far.  He says you’ve spent a lot of time together, and he thinks that means he knows you.”

“Well, it’s one way.”

Kira looks down at her glass, back at Keiko’s nodding face, and decides to have a drink.

“I’ve always said it depends on the person,” Keiko is happy to continue.  “Some you could be around for years and not really know, but others… Others, you just make a good connection with right away, you know?”

Kira only finds the conviction to say, “I know,” after Keiko’s hand finds hers on the tabletop.  It has taken this action for her to learn, anyway, and she would hate to lie to anyone as sweet and forward as Keiko.  

“Like Miles and I--”

_Oh_ , Kira thinks.  She had forgotten about Miles completely.

“--we hadn’t known each other very long before getting seriously involved, then engaged, then married.”

_Oh_ , again.

“And some days it’s hard, but deep down we _know_ we support each other,” Keiko’s hand retreats.  “It’s just one of those things.”

“I know what you mean.”

Kira shifts back in her seat, and makes sure her smile is not overly friendly.  Content, at best.  She’s having an enjoyable drink and a harmless chat with a new friend, why shouldn’t she be content?

“A universal constant,” Keiko surmises, but the concept does not translate properly to Kira’s ear.

“Dax calls them heliocentric orbits,” Kira says kindly, “and that sounds exactly right.”

Keiko drops her smile, but quickly realizes that Kira was not trying to talk down to her, so she picks it up again.

“That must make you the sun,” Kira adds.  

She has her natural Bajoran understanding of allegories to thank for this delightful conversation.  It’s almost _easy_ , who knew humans could be so approachable?  If Keiko says ‘universal’ and ‘constant’ all that’s missing is ‘orbit.’  Kira grins at her accomplishment, but is still afraid to add that she now sees herself - perhaps too optimistically - as one of the indebted planets.

“It was nice to meet you, Keiko.”

“You too, Major.”

_That’s not right_ , Kira thinks.  She isn’t Keiko’s Major.

“Kira,” she offers.  It’s really the least she can do.

“Kira.  It’s been nice to meet you, too.”

They make arrangements, at Keiko’s insistence, to ‘do this again sometime.’  Kira learns that this phrase must mean ‘once a month, at least’ on Earth.  


	2. Chapter 2

Julian feels more indecisive tonight than usual.  Of course, Miles’s suggestion that he tends to separate everyone he meets into one extreme or another hasn’t helped things.  He’s draped himself, unceremoniously and upside down, over the sofa in Miles’s quarters, and thinks he might fall asleep there.  Half of him wants to see Doctor Lense immediately, but the other would rather not leave his friend’s house ever, for anything.  Those certainly _sound like_ extremes.  He shakes his head, as it hangs over the edge of the couch.

“What do you want?” Miles chimes along with the tones of the replicator, still waiting to make them drinks.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” Julian says.  He did not ask for synthale, anyway.

“Food, maybe?  I got this thing to do _such_ a good white pudding the other day - Keiko thought my father sent it.” 

Julian is able to get drunk, but sometimes forgets he’s meant to fake hangovers.  He usually writes them off with ‘something from the Infirmary,’ but after deciding this could tarnish his reputation in several ways, he thinks leaving the miracle cure to an Irishman is more than acceptable.

“Sure, fine.”

Miles keys in the order before asking what’s wrong.

“I didn’t mean anything bad by it, Julian,” he concludes. “Lots of people are like that.  I’m almost positive Starfleet hunts it out, or something.”

“It’s alright, Chief,” Julian says.  He thinks he’s said this already, but as someone who enjoys having a point reaffirmed, he’s willing to share the indulgence.

Miles leans against the sofa, his back beside the seat Julian has claimed, and sets their meal on the coffee table.  They turn sideways to glance at each other.

“Can you believe that… ‘the other day,’” Miles echoes himself, amused, and cuts one of the patties in half with his fork, “I was talking about it like it just happened, but Keiko’s been gone well over a month, now.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” says Julian, but the sarcasm is lost in the bottom of his latest glass of whiskey.

He remains there, hanging upside down, watching as Miles divides their meal between two smaller plates.  The result is greasy and sloppy, and he feels his arteries tighten at the sight of it.

Miles wants to laugh at the face his friend is making, but he remembers this entire event was intended to make him feel better.  He can try harder at that.

“It’s her loss, y’know, not getting to know you any better.  I’m sure if she just tried _talking_ to you, she’d _love_ you.”

“Like you do.”

“Like I do, exactly.”

They glance at each other again, and Julian giggles.  When Miles does not, Julian stops and tries to disguise the whole thing with a cough.  He wonders what possessed him to tilt his head like this in the first place; the accelerated blood-flow makes him giddy and restless.  Maybe it was so he would not drink anything else.  He does not have time to think about it, or to shift himself upright, because Miles is scooting in closer and closer.  Then he puts one hand over Julian’s cheek, turns it gently, and kisses him.

Much like their meal, the result is a mess.  Their bottom lips are clasped around each other, and that’s the extent of it.

Julian is thankful that he doesn’t seek out kisses for the taste.  The same as he doesn’t drink real alcohol for the taste.  He wants to shake his head but it feels clear already, even with Miles still holding it.

“Sorry,” Miles says, but does not let go.

Julian turns himself over, parroting the apology when he finally has to pull his face back.  He slides down onto the floor, right beside Miles, and leans against the base of the sofa.

“It’s alright,” both say, at roughly the same time.

“I mean,” Miles continues, defensively, “it can’t be any worse than what you and Mister Garak get up to.”

Julian’s attempt to slide away is barred by the bend in the sofa.  

“Garak and I don’t ‘get up’ to anything,” he says, drawing quotation marks in the air with his index fingers.  He goes back to his place on the sofa, folding his legs against his chest and holding them there.  

“Fair enough,” Miles agrees, unsure of his own strategy, “he might be married as well, for all we know.”

“Please, Chief…”

Miles stands, just so he can look down on Julian and their forgotten pudding.  He goes back to the cabinet and returns with more real alcohol.  Julian holds up his glass and nods at it until Miles has filled it to an acceptable line.  He holds onto the bottle for himself.

“So you’re not gonna go see her tonight, then, are you?” Miles speaks slowly.  The words feel like ancient chewing gum, which he can neither spit out nor swallow.  He must use them until they’re bitter.

“No, Chief.  I think I’d better stay right here.”

Miles returns to his place on the floor.  

“I don’t want to talk about it,” but he does, desperately.  As ever, Julian does not understand him correctly.

“Of course, Chief.  It’s better to sleep on things like this, in my experience.”

Miles makes a note to ask Julian about his ‘experience’ in this pathetic field later.  For now, he slouches against the sofa and tries to take the doctor’s advice.  Maybe it isn’t so misguided.

Julian curls up as small as he can, surrendering the rest of the space to Miles, if he wants it.  The agreement is silently made, and Miles only moves after he’s certain Julian is sleeping deeply enough to not be disturbed.

He hopes they won’t remember this in the morning, but also knows he will, even if Julian doesn’t.  Julian is caught between similar extremes.  

***

After last night, Julian doesn’t know what to order.  Not synthale.  

He and Miles have both filled the intervening time with standard shifts - he’s fairly certain Miles accepted a double - so they’ve been able to avoid each other for most of the day.  Julian realizes he’s avoided eating, too, even cancelling his routine lunch with Garak.  He said he was afraid of running late, and felt uncomfortable with how easily Garak accepted his pitiful attempts at excuses.  

“We will have other opportunities to get to know each other,” Garak had said, in his video message.

Julian coughed, tugged at his collar, and said, “I’m sure.”

Now, he can see Garak prowling the promenade.  Not looking for anything, doing the best he can at blending in.  Julian tries to steal what he can of this skill, dissolving into his plate.

Food, right.  Quark walks by again with his order PADD.

“Some… breakfast,” Julian says, still hunched low over the bar.

Quark chuckles and asks if he had a rough night, if there’s someone he’s trying to avoid.

“A couple of someones, actually,” he says, and then he feels a hand clamp down over his shoulder.

Maybe it’ll be Garak, there to scold him and insist on buying his meal.  No, he couldn’t be so fortunate.  It’s Miles.

“Hey, Julian,” Miles says, and takes the empty seat beside him.

Quark leaves, still laughing to himself, to put together a passable breakfast.

“Sorry about,” Miles begins.  He doesn’t not want to say ‘last night’ so he mutters, “yesterday.”

“Don’t worry about it, Chief.  It’s not a problem.”

“Sure."

A Ferengi server presents them with a tray of mismatched Federation foods.  Julian thanks him, picks up what he hopes is a properly boiled egg, and inspects it.  He thinks he’ll stick with the oatmeal this time; Quark’s made it for him before.  

Miles watches him pick up the spoon and stir it.

“I mean,” Julian says, “it’s not a problem with _me_.  Have you talked with Keiko about it?”

“It’s been, like, twelve hours.”

Julian shrugs and continues eating quietly, even if it burns his tongue.

“I haven’t told her.  Not yet.” Miles shakes his head, “I’m waiting to hear more about this Bajoran guy she’s been seeing… spending a lot of time with, from the sound of things.  I might not tell her at all.”

This is too much responsibility for Julian.  He thought he was caught in the middle of a happy couple already, but knowing the tension runs regardless… he doesn’t know what to do about that.  He’s fairly certain he’s never broken up a relationship, and he has no desire to start.

“Oh,” he manages, “I didn’t know you had an open relationship.”

“Neither did I.”

“Well, not that I, er, not that I opened it, really.  I meant--”

“Are you an expert on these setups, or something?”

Miles and Julian reach down for the napkins at the same time, and find it is a single one - folded into thirds - and not a more useful stack of them.  Julian pushes it to the half of the tray Miles has claimed.

“I’m speaking as a doctor and your friend,” Julian says quietly.  “It’s a common practice on other planets, and I’m sure you _know_ it’s been gaining popularity on Earth since the--”

“No, not with Bajorans.  They know how to honor a commitment, ask Major Kira.”

Julian shivers at the mere _threat_ of asking her anything personal.

“That’s why you want to establish ground-rules from the beginning, make sure everyone agrees on them, and then remind them frequently in case comfort levels change, and… Chief?”

Miles curses the missed opportunity of choking on his toast - he’s already swallowed it and has nothing else to stop the words.

“Are you - Julian, look at me - are you _seriously_ proposing that?  Something between you and I?”

“Well we’re friends already, aren’t we?”

Miles widens his eyes.  This is, perhaps, the first time Julian understands this motion correctly.  He speaks quickly and apologetically.

“I mean _our_ part of it is that we’re friends.  Healthy friendships certainly have a place beyond marriages.”

Miles sighs, making a soft ‘hmm’ sound, as he sets his head on his fist.  He wouldn’t call their friendship healthy after last night, but Julian genuinely doesn’t seem affected.  This is past naive, Miles thinks, this is… different.  He can’t place why.

“Chief?”

“Oh,” Miles raises his head.

“These things don’t just _happen_ , of course.  You need to talk about them first.  A _lot_.”

Miles shuts his eyes before offering his inventory of the conversation.  

“So you’ve never been in a relationship like this, and you _don’t_ want to start one with me, is that what you’re saying?”

Julian rolls his eyes, just halfway.

“I think that just about covers it, yes.”

“Hmm,” Miles says again.  “Then why are we talking about this, a lot?”

Julian stares into his oatmeal, and stirs the single remaining spoonful around the base of his bowl.

“The way I look at it, you get one extreme or the other,” he grins.  “You try something new, and it either makes everyone miserable, or makes everyone happy.”

“Do you know what?” Miles offers, “you’re even _more_ annoying when you’re right.”

Julian leans in to pat his shoulder.

“So talk about it with Keiko, let her know you still care about her while she’s away.  And next time you get lonely, why not see Major Kira or myself?”

Miles knows - especially after all the compliments Keiko has gathered from their coffee dates - that he’d much rather see the Major.


	3. Chapter 3

Miles finds he strongly prefers meeting with Major Kira about matters like these.  He’s surprised to find she helps him laugh them off, rather than overthink them like Julian does.  

And they never meet in Quark’s - Kira doesn’t like to be there if she doesn’t have to - while Julian doesn’t take him anywhere else - he has this habit of talking incessantly about Garak when they visit the Replimat.

Kira apologizes as she sets down her tray across from Miles’s seat.

“I’ve been so busy lately--” she explains, but nothing further is necessary.

Miles nods, slides his glass nearer to hers, and gives the rims a noncommittal _click_.

“Join the club,” he says, and she smiles.

“You aren’t done with the refit already, are you?”

He nods and dismisses it as one of the easier jobs their latest joint mission has forced on him.  

“You’re still trying to calm down the Vedek Assembly?” he asks.

She turns her fork sideways and slams it against her plate, slicing through her replicated meat.  The topic troubles her.

“I gave up.”

“What, _you_?  That doesn’t sound right.”

“Well, so did they,” she explains. “They _know_ the communications relay would help us, and if they want to continue hiding behind some outdated and _disproved_ interpretation of a prophecy--  I mean… it’s on all of us.  I won’t work with anyone who can’t move past that kind of prejudice.”

Miles watches her, as she makes another cut in her food, slightly more gentle this time.  She sighs as she eats it.

“I would’ve said that didn’t sound right either, if you and I were talking about this a year ago.”

“I’m just trying to accept that _some_ Cardassians are willing to change, and a _lot_ of Bajorans are not.”

“I’d say you’ve a better chance of that with their Science Ministry than with their military.”

Kira knows the opposite is true of her homeworld, where she is, at times, the only member of the militia trying to talk sense into the religious assemblies.  

“I think I offended both of them beyond that point, Chief.”

He shakes his head and laughs into his cup before drinking from it.  

“I didn’t tell you,” he begins, “but - nearly that whole time - Rejal thought I was coming onto her.  Can you imagine?”

Kira blinks as she waits for a more figurative translation to meet her device.

“That would have solved a _lot_ of our cross-cultural problems, Chief,” she says lightly.

“I didn’t know what else to say - I told her I was married.”

“You are.”

“And she probably thought I was… just disgusted with her entire species, the way she looked back at me.”

“Are you?”

“No more than you are, Major”

They both turn and notice Doctor Bashir walking by.  His arms are crossed and he looks troubled.  Which, Miles knows, means he’ll be joining them shortly and will ignore or misunderstand all of their protests.

Miles sighs, but not loudly enough to deter Julian from sliding a chair up between them.  If Miles repeats himself, he knows Julian will just ask what’s wrong, and will stay longer.

“Is it alright if I join you?” Julian asks, but he is already comfortable.

“Sure,” Kira relents.  

She is of the ‘Dislike’ extreme in Julian’s life.  They have a distant respect of each other’s strengths, and that is the extent of their commonalities.

“We were just talking about Cardassians,” she continues, hoping the topic will intimidate him.

With the addition of the third chair at the small table, Miles is thankful he can now reach Kira’s arm to nudge it, but she has already spoken.  Julian stares forward, intrigued.

“What about them?”

Kira looks down, where the Chief has nearly set his hand over her arm in protest.  His fingers inch forward, but he cannot commit to the motion.  Is it too intimate?  He doesn’t want to think about it, but the thought is the only thing capable of stopping the action.  The cycle is vicious.

“Chief O’Brien may have ruined our mission by misunderstanding their mating rituals,” she jokes.

“Oh?” Julian asks, furrowing his brows.

“If you debate them about _anything_ ,” Miles replies, “they think you’re interested in them.”

“Ah,” Julian’s tone only changes slightly.  “That… makes a lot of sense, actually.”

He forgets the reason he came to see them.  It was for advice of some sort, but this is better.  

Julian stands to leave, and Miles sets his head in his hands when Julian turns over his shoulder to say “thank you.”

***

Julian expects, after nearly a year, that the novelty would have worn off.  He should know better than to expect _anything_ , by now.

When Miles does call to cash in the favor, Julian is in Garak’s quarters.  They are really, properly, _finally_ kissing, and Julian curses his luck.  His communicator hasn’t beeped to signal a medical emergency, however, so he’ll take whatever extra time he can get.

He’s adjusting to the thickness of Garak’s tongue, delighting in the fizzy sensation of the foreign saliva, bracing against the sharpness of his teeth.  All of that sounds decidedly medical and unromantic, he thinks, but Garak doesn’t seem to mind and - so far - shows no signs of reading his thoughts.  Just the communicator, which he hears at the same time Julian does.

Garak does not pull away; his claws graze Julian’s shoulders, cool against his skin, having unzipped Julian’s uniform and found their way beneath it already.  The communicator dangles loosely between them, a reminder of his unfinished work.  He gives the warmest sigh he’s capable of and bites at Julian’s jawline.

“Julian?” it’s Miles’s voice, soft and unsure of itself, like it can see the static it’s fighting through.

Garak likes the gentle vibration of the communicator, and cups his hand over it.  Not close enough to activate it, but enough to enjoy himself.  When Julian remembers to open his eyes, he gives Garak a not-all-that-surprised-but-still-disappointed look.  

For as long as the invitation has stood with Miles, Julian has had dreams of whirlwind alien affairs, almost like this one.  His original ideas were a bit younger and generally female, but after years of successfully gaining only Garak’s consistent attention, he’s looking forward to the compromise.  And of _course_ this is the night Miles needs to call him.  

“--if it’s no trouble--” the message struggles out through Garak’s fingers.  He gives up and removes them, setting his hand on his partner’s shoulder instead.

He pulls Julian against his chest immediately.  The sudden pressure succeeds both in activating the communicator and eliciting a little moan from Julian.  He tries to make it sound like a cough, but, as usual, manages to fool exactly no one.

Garak watches, entirely amused, and drums his fingers on Julian’s shoulder as he struggles to speak.

“Sure, Chief,” he says, and his voice is more overwhelmed and broken than he was expecting.  He tries to cough again.  “That should be alright.  What did you have in mind?”

Miles is silent.

“Chief?” Julian calls.

Garak sighs again, and moves his lips down to Julian’s collarbone.  He can’t recall the last time he had to be quiet this long, but he’s certain the circumstances were less pleasant.  Perhaps more permanent, though; Julian nudges him away and lets his finger hover over the communicator again.  

“In a minute,” he assures Garak, who tosses his hands and goes to sit on the bed.  He taps the device and waits, “ _Miles_?  Are you at home?  I can, er, I can bring chess or darts or something, if--  Chief?”

“That’s alright, Julian,” he eventually replies.  “Sounds like you’re busy, anyway.”

“No!” he says.  

Garak glares at him, and he tries to shake his head reassuringly.  As usual, Julian has only managed to make the misunderstanding worse.

“Not at _all_ ,” Garak says, before Julian can disengage the call.

“Is that…?” but Miles trails off, because really, he’d rather not know.  It’s bad enough, just having the suspicions to share with the rest of the station.  He’d collapse under the responsibility of being the first to know for certain.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Julian says, his voice passably casual for once.  “Maybe you should give the Major a call instead.  She might be better for keeping you company - stopping you moping, I mean - I-I’m afraid I’d just make it worse.”

“Yeah, you’re right, you would.”

Julian glances hopefully back at Garak, desperate not to ruin all of his plans at once.  It figures, really; he could spend a whole week of off-shifts alone in his quarters, and then _this_.

Garak grins at this, pleasantly surprised that he’s managed to teach Julian anything over the years.  ‘How to Avoid A Commitment’ was not at the top of his list, either, but it is now.

“See you tomorrow at the holosuites, Chief?” Julian offers.  Then he removes the communicator along with his jacket, and moves to join Garak, who is too impatient to refuse him.

Garak knows he should, but he doesn’t.  That defines most of his life, he thinks with a smile, as he peels off Julian’s rollneck.

Julian has to ask if Garak is enjoying himself; the Cardassian has stopped talking for the most part.  

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Julian says in conclusion.

“I _have_ told you to be patient with me, Doctor.  Now, do you think you can manage to lie still?  Your friend is capable of waiting for you a little longer, there’s no need to worry; I promise to return you in _excellent_ condition.”

Julian hadn’t realized he was shaking.

“Sorry about that,” he replies. “It’s just-- well, you’re a bit cold.  It was alright before, when it was just your hands, but the thought of… er… _all over_ me...”

Garak shifts his weight in an attempt to make Julian more comfortable.

“I see,” he says, sliding back to create a gap between them.

Julian can’t piece together an apologetic expression, so he shuts his eyes and sighs.

“No, I didn’t mean ‘stop,’ he explains.

Garak reaches for a panel on the headboard and presses his palm into it.

“Oh, Doctor,” Garak tuts and suddenly changes his mind, “I don’t intend to.  There’s a heating device in the mattress, please inform me when you’re sufficiently comfortable so we can continue.”

Julian gives another of his muddled faces, aiming for I-don’t-know-what-I-expected-but-it-wasn’t-this.  Garak grins at the attempt and kisses his partner’s cheek.  Quietly, he confirms Julian’s preferences, and then goes to consult the replicator while they wait.  Julian doesn’t really want to think about _that_ , about the implications of a request for _Terran_ styles of lubricant coming from Garak’s quarters; what else could it mean, really?  So Julian stays quiet and says Garak can get whatever he’d like.  When Garak returns to him, Julian shivers again, but this time in anticipation - the final and almost sickening stage of it.  

As Julian leaves, several hours later and in a rush to look presentable in time for his next shift, he has not changed his viewpoint on patience.  He had a nice time, of course, but doesn’t expect it would have been dramatically better or worse had they gotten together sooner.  He feels a satisfied hum between his temples, and a line of little bruises forming over _all_ of his softest patches of skin.  His back is a pleasant sort of sore as he tries to walk quickly to his own cabin.  The balance is not quite right, though, of time for result.

He expects that, if Miles has spent the night talking to Kira, his ego must be feeling the same way.  He also knows that he and Miles see the same qualities in her - but, somehow - they understand them in very different ways.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for hanging with me on this one - it's just something I work on when I'm not really Feeling my main projects, but I do have more updates planned :)


End file.
